A Dying Star
by Caramel.Raven
Summary: After Loki falls off the Bifrost: Change and fickleness, these were his qualities but as the wild lights of suns and realms spun and swirled over, under and around him, he felt he was the only thing constant.


A Dying Star

Change and fickleness, these were his qualities but as the wild lights spun and swirled over, under and around him, Loki felt he was the only thing constant. It was as if the universe were speeding past him while he hung suspended in nothingness instead of falling through it.

Sometimes the colors of familiar glows reappeared once or maybe twice or three times, and if Loki had paid any attention he might have even recognized the distinct shapes of Midgard or Asgard. As it was, Loki wondered if maybe he could be seen as a shooting star flashing over Asgard reminding Thor that he once had had a brother.

Would Thor mourn him? They had spent so much time together; unfathomably, painfully close as they'd been even for brothers. But hadn't that changed, now that Thor surely knew of his origins? They'd shared their food, their clothes, even their beds on cold nights and wouldn't Thor be repulsed to have let a Frost Giant sleep beside him?

Knowing Thor, he'd be furious but he'd try to convince himself that he didn't mind, that Loki was still his brother but Loki also knew that Thor hated Frost Giants. He despised them; he had to since Loki couldn't remember Thor ever having uttered a pleasant word about them. Not even when they fought him valiantly and by their deaths granted him greatness and honor.

Angry lights whirled through Loki's vision, frantically rushing along their orbits and Loki watched them for a while before he grinned. Thor would be lying to himself if he told himself he still loved Loki and wasn't it a feat that, all truth revealed, Loki still managed to leave behind the legacy of a lie in Thor's heart?

But it mattered little as anything mattered little these days. Not that the lights were the only thing keeping Loki aware of his being alive. Not that their flashing was robbing him of his last shred of sanity.

Loki had no concept of self anymore. In his timeless fall, devoid of mirrors, devoid of anything but his thoughts to remind him that he existed, Loki slowly began to forget his pain.

His first thought when numbness had taken over and no memory or ailment afflicted him anymore was to question the possibility of his still being alive. He remembered clearly, the pain erupting in his bosom when he fell past the boundaries of atmosphere and his body should, by all means, have burst into stardust when no pressure kept his skin together anymore. He should have been crushed by space rubble, should have drowned, choked or, and Loki laughed drily, at least have starved by now.

Yet the only sensation registering in his mind was cold, a seeping, familiar cold that had always accompanied exhaustion. Exhaustion of the magical kind.

So that was it then. His magic was ensuring his continued existence in spite of Loki's desire for the contrary to be the case. He tugged at it and as a result felt a frost bite freshly adorning his fingers with which he had habitually executed the tug.

Again, peals of laughter spilled past Loki's chapped lips. Was it true then, what they said about magic, that it was alive and sentient? What an honor to have been chosen as its master and all the more peculiar that it didn't listen to his command, no, his plea to let him go now.

Why and what for? Surely, it must prefer to rejoin the vastness of universe's magical well instead of lingering with such a wretched being such as him? It must yet have a purpose for him, a notion causing Loki to teeter on the line between despair and hope. He didn't want…

Months might have passed, maybe even years and there really was no telling yet Loki endured without end or final destination. If Loki had ever felt boredom, he didn't feel it now. All was numb, all was peaceful in its chaos.

He avoided pondering on his condition. Finally, for the first time in his life, he was utterly and irrevocably free. No obligations, no expectations, no wants or dreams, no body, no future, no, no nothing. It was the first time, Loki understood the meaning of being trapped. He was caught in limbo, powerless and helpless and not even death was granted unto him. By his own traitorous magic.

The ever reeling lights had grown few and faint, and it was at the moment this comprehension wormed its way through to Loki's clouded mind that fear roused him again. He had reached the outer branches of Yggdrasil. This was it. If he died Outside, his soul wouldn't be able to reenter the World Tree and find peace in the realm of the afterlife. Was this the plan magic had had for him? His complete obliteration: mind, body and soul?

If he had still had the strength, he would have cried but he was long past that so instead he let himself fall yet again into a quiet resignation. He was an abomination after all. It was only right.

Praying his final goodbye, Loki drifted away.

AN: This is long and boring and actually just a prolog but I don't know if I can or will go through with the story. Anyway, if you enjoyed this, leave a review, kay? Thanks. :)


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